The Orphans of Barbary
by Vasilisa23
Summary: In this episode Ginny proves that redheads really do have tempers, Hermione disseminates her magical knowledge, and we catch up with the affairs of the remaining Weasley brothers, stuck in the doldrums with Captain Wood and a crew of Ravenclaws.
1. Chapter 1

A while ago, I threatened the readers of my other HP fic, Even the Stars Can be moved (find it by checking out my profile ), with a piratish Tom/Hr fic. Well, here it is. Even if you're not into Tom/Hr, however, there's plenty more. There will be other ships, although I'd sort of like to surprise you with them, so I'm keeping them under wraps. And pretty much everyone I can think of at least makes an appearance, so long as it's pertinent. I'm very glad I thought to include Sirius and Kingsley Shacklebott. He will prove to be great fun. Off with you. Enjoy.

.((0)).

The orphans of Barbary, that was what they liked to call themselves. More like the orphans and runaway of Barbary, Harry having run away from his wretched adoptive parents in England. It was bad enough being third or fourth son in, in that godforsaken bitter-weathered hierarchy--- try being no son at all. So he'd done as most good boys had done, run away to the harbor, where he'd become a powder monkey on the fourth rate frigate _Hufflepuff_. After much badcaptainship, a severe lack of Vitamin C, and multiple sustained broadsides, Harry had been absolutely thrilled when pirates ran their bow over the ship and the famous dread pirate Sirius Black offered him death or the sweet trade. The sweet trade it was for Harry Potter. For one, once they made it down to the Caribbean, they stayed near the coast, keeping the ship well stocked (especially with that absolutely essential lime juice), raiding the occasional galleon (honestly, who bothered with galleons in the Age of Sail anymore?) and occasionally plunging into the occasional gillyweed-supplemented wracking trade, Harry had managed to amount a small fortune and a certain handiness with a cutlass and a blunderbuss. Not only that, he was the go-to boy for all around rigging; no one could clamber up the masts and ropes like Harry.

Hermione was more of a proper orphan. Having lost her mother at a young age, she had grown up on a ship. Her father was an English privateer who had no real choice but to keep his only daughter and spitting image of his dearly departed by his side. Clearly he couldn't have her play any part in the burlyboy antics of his crew, but he could teach her mathematics and the principles of navigation. She took to it like a frog to water, and by the tender age of thirteen she had replaced Navigator Binns, who was ancient and half incompetent anyway. By the time this happened, he was senile enough that everyone pretended that he was still the Navigator, and "Well done, Binns!" became code for a job well done by Miss Hermione. That was not, to the consternation of her father, the only thing she took to. An inquisitive girl by nature, she'd sussed out every language spoken by the crew, and had mastered French, Spanish, and Portuguese to the extent that she spoke it better that her crew mates. Including the gutter bits. And God forbid the swag included books (there was one in particular that she never let go of and only read in the privacy of her room; the title was A Compleat Guide to the Parametres of Magickal Thinking and he dismissed it as tripe)—then she could barely be bothered to navigate and her father would have to take on the duties himself. Captain Granger was not nearly as good of a navigator as he was a captain.

Despite this, every so often the wind just doesn't blow your way, and Captain Granger found himself entangled with three French corvettes and sustained an unfortunate amount of damage. He found it necessary to retreat to the coast and careen the boat in order to perform extensive repairs. Looking at his daughter sitting on a dune and reading a book near the overturned boat, he realized he ought to teach her how to defend herself in the case that he came off the worse in such an entanglement. From that day forward, he enlisted Kingsley Shacklebott as her protector and trainer. She absorbed swordplay like she absorbed everything else—proficiently, especially when supplemented with books. She favored a custom-made double baldric that sheathed both a longsword and a cutless ("After all, Daddy, I can just tire them out by keeping them at a distance if worse comes to worst."). For Kingsley Shacklebott, who had escaped a slave ship by means of swords, had been tutored by Blackbeard himself, and who regarded swordplay as a high art, he had found a kindred spirit. It was due to his protectorship and tutelage that she and he were the lone survivors of the _Ravenclaw_ on that fateful day she tangled with the Spanish ship of the line _Slytherin_, which took no prisoners and burnt the brig _Ravenclaw_ to its keel. Hermione and Kingsley were on the _Slytherin's _deck at the time, running through as many pirates as they could. In the heat of nearby flames, Hermione made a valiant last effort with tears streaming from her eyes, until Kingsley forced her to see the side of reason and they made off with one of the _Slytherin_'s life boats.

Ron Weasley was one of seven orphans, and his story was the saddest of all. His poverty-plagued family had been en route to the Caribbean to make a new life for themselves when they ran into typhoon season. Mr. Weasley, more through force of will than anything, had managed to procure a lifeboat for his children. There was room for all the children, but none at all for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. After drifting in the Atlantic side of the ocean for about a week, they were picked up by a certain S.S. Slytherin. Certain of the members of that ship, in particular a Draco Malfoy and a Blaise Zabini (the dark and light sides of the Devil, Percy swore), were looking at the sole female Weasley in a way that the Weasley brothers did not appreciate. And they never saw the captain. Ever. They doubted anyone had, although everyone on board insisted that his name was Tom Riddle, and that he did speak with Navigator Snape, who everyone took their orders from. So, after signing the articles of the ship, they mounted a plan to be carried out as soon as they came to port that would get them out of the hands of said bloody evil pirates. Unfortunately, they came to port earlier than expected, and said plan had major contributions by the Weasley twins, who were much better at mounting practical jokes than quasi-military debacles. As a result, all the Weasleys were separated. The sole consolation for Ron was that he'd last seen Ginevra with Charlie and William, who he trusted the most to protect her. He had no idea what had come of the others, or even where he was. And he had no money. But at home, he had routinely proved his manliness (a constant necessity for the youngest boy) by swimming in the frigid waters of the Atlantic, and found that he did even better in the warm waters of the Caribbean. After a while he discovered he was on the Barbary Coast, and that there was a certain trade called wracking, which involved diving for treasure, which was terribly exciting. There he met a black-haired, green eyes boy with glasses (part of the swag of a Chinese junk), an artifact he had never seen before, who possessed a certain substance called gillyweed (the swag of a very odd ship of the line called _The Hogwarts_ that had no business being overrun by pirates and whose captain, a certain Dumbledore the Gray, seemed positively _twinkly_ about it). From there he signed a second set of articles and became a part of the Dread Pirate Sirius Black's (he always insisted on the whole title, and laughed at you every time you said it, which convinced Ron that he was a good sort) latest ship, a sorry-looking fifth-rate frigate called _The Griffin_. He didn't ever forget about his brothers and sister, and dreamt of them frequently, but had absolutely no idea what to do about his situation.

Enter a bossy little female know-it-all accompanied by a very large black man, who one day walked straight up to the Dread Pirate Sirius Black and insisted that he take her on as Navigator. She had heard around town that he had an opening, as it were, and after all Captain Kidd was more famous for having taken on females than for being any kind of a decent pirate. She wore a proper dress and two swords at her waist, and seemed to have as her sole possession a very large book. The Dread Pirate Sirius Black gave her the stinkeye for a good minute and she stared right back. Then he shrugged and said, "Very well", and showed her to her cabin. No one besides the Dread Pirate Sirius Black, his best friend and suspected lover Remus Lupin, and the cooper Peter Pettigrew had cabins to themselves ("Those barrels keep the water clean and the bugs away for entire Transatlantic journeys," had been his explanation, and those familiar with life on a ship with waning stock readily agreed).

Hermione and Ron fought viciously from the first. Harry suspected that Ron instigated the arguments so that he could get a good look at her backside when she stalked away. He formed a tentative friendship with the girl, mostly in case his suspicions were right and he could put a good word in her ear to counteract the git factor. Then one night they docked at Port Royal with fresh swag, and decided to be wicked with their riches in the wickedest, richest city in the world. Over spiced rum they each told their life stories; thus the Orphans of Barbary was founded.

And later that night on the ship, Hermione poked her head into the bunks and called Harry and Ron onto the deck. With great solemnity she pulled out her prized possession: A Compleat Guide to the Parametres of Magickal Thinking. Harry and Ron were nonplussed and asked if she were joking. She wasn't. They decided she was mad. So she pulled out a stick of wood from her baldric (so there were _three_ sheaths), pointed at the book, and muttered "Wingardium Leviosa". The book rose. Ron gasped. Harry looked for a wire.

"I have a plan to find your brothers and sister, Ron," said Hermione.


	2. Chapter 2

I have to say, I have really missed out on writing some of these characters. I immediately had to put Ginny in there, and I am totally in love with her; I am so happy to be able to play with the Marauders without their tragic story (I'm sorry, I am just completely in love with Wormtail right now—he is a genius barrel-builder!), and I am looking forward to getting back to the simply beautiful Kingsley Shacklebolt. And I get to write Hermione and Ron fighting! And rigging-obsessed Harry! If you haven't guessed, this fic is half an excuse for me to try out my nautical terminology. I have been reading so much Horatio Hornblower I practically made this a multiverse story. And THANK YOU sychofrantic and emily, please enjoy the more for your input.

.((0)).

_Boys_, thought Ginny (she insisted on Ginny, everyone else insisted on Ginevra) huffily, as she watched William and Charlie in the midst of yet another bar fight. Or maybe the thought should be, more properly: _brothers_. Honestly, what did they think would happen if they brought her to a bar? And they were in Tortuga, whore capital of the world (all right, perhaps Port Royal was whore capital #1). She was doubly bound to be asked if she was a prostitute, and if _she_ didn't take it as an insult, why should _they_? She was completely tired of being fought over, of being treated like a baby and a _girl_. She didn't care if she was a girl, she had snuck all of Dad's pirate books out as a child and knew more about the area they were in than any of them, but did anyone listen to her?

And as pirates go, _The Slytherin_ hadn't been so bad. Certainly better than getting sunburnt and hungry and thirsty on that dratted lifeboat, with nothing to think about but Mum and Dad, and that look on their faces as said lifeboat descended into the typhoonish Atlantic. Tear sprang to her eyes, and Ginny screwed her face up and folded her arms. She would not cry. She would not give them a reason to treat her like a baby again. If only she could get her hands on a sword. She had been practicing on those ever since she'd been reading about pirates. If they had stayed long enough on that boat Ginny was sure she could have proved herself as a pirate. She could be like Anne Bonny and lop off her hair and wear breeches. And that Draco chap hadn't been so terrible looking. In fact, she thought she could see him now, in a little nook past the whist game. And right next to him was that Blaise Zabini. Both of them were looking at her, and Ginny's eyes widened.

Suddenly _The Slytherin_ didn't seem half so promising as it had in her memory. That pair did not have a nice look about their faces. It went very far past being roguish. She looked over at Charlie and William. Quite busy. She looked around her. There, gleaming right on the wall, practically winking at her, was a battered old cutlass. If her brothers had seen the look on Ginny's face at that moment, they wouldn't have believed she was their sister.

.((0)).

"It's called a locator spell," said Hermione in a rather bossy tone that always succeeded in getting Ron's britches up.

"Let me guess. It locates things," he said in a voice laden with sarcasm.

Hermione regarded him coolly with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, very good Ronald."

"Oi! You know I hate it when you call me that, _Hermy_."

Hermione just barely managed not to roll her eyes. She pulled a compass out of its binnacle and pointed her stick at it. She muttered an incantation under her breath. "There," she said, smiling. "Now, instead of pointing due North, it will point due Ginevra."

"Isn't that the only compass we have?" pointed out Harry, who was still convinced the rising book thing had something to do with wires. Although, as the First Rigger, it could be properly said that Harry was a bit mad about strings.

Hermione pointed upwards and developed that tone again. "What's that big old thing up there?"

"The sky," said Harry dutifully.

"And what is in the sky?"

"We get it, you stuffy old bint Navigator, you can use the stars, we get it," Ron said.

"I'm not old! I'm eighteen!"

"Better get yourself married up before anyone cottons on to what a little know-it-all you are."

"Oh and _whom_ would you suggest I marry myself off to, Ronald?"

Perhaps Harry wouldn't need to put that word about Ron into Hermione's ear. They were both gits as far as he was concerned. They barely noticed as he rose and walked aft to a solitary figure leaning over the rail. "Howzit, Wormtail?" he asked the short, pudgy man. It was funny, really, how he got that name, considering his barrels were perhaps the most rodent-proof in all of the Atlantic. Peter was watching the shore of West Africa recede.

"I'll be happy to get to Port Royal. There aren't any good pirate enclaves in Barbary, and the girls are all _scary_." Peter was perhaps the most whorehouse-happy pirate Harry knew. But then, he couldn't be counted on to get a girl on charm alone. Bit sad, really. The masts groaned a bit as the boat tacked to the wind, and the distinct rippling sound of luffing came to Harry's ear. _That's what the cunningham's there for, you idiots_, thought Harry. Who was for'ard? Must be that prat Longbotton. Peter's gaze drifted up and noticed the moon was full. "Uh-oh."

"What is it, Wormtail?

"Uh- erm… Just something I forgot about. Um, 'scuse me." And he positively scurried belowdecks. Harry sauntered to the stern to show Longbottom a few obvious points about rigging. A few minutes later, there came a great crash from below, and not only that, but a howl.

.((0)).

Dumbledore the Gray was standing on the top yard of the mizzenmast, hands clasped behind his back, beard trailing past him in the wind. In the distance, barely distinguishable from the rest of the sky in the moonlight, a tiny figure approached on a broom. The rules of perspective increased as the figure grew in size, but it never grew to quite the size of a full grown adult wizard. The figure sidled besides him, bobbing in the wind, head to head with Dumbledore solely because he was on a broom.

"Well, hello, Flitwick. How do you do?"

The little man adjusted his glasses. "Fine, fine. I've caught sight of the _Slytherin_ off of the shore of Martinique. How did things go with the _Griffin_?"

"Oh, I haven't run into them since they made off with my booty," replied Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly.

"D'ye think they know what to make of any of it?"

"Oh, there were instructions along with the gillyweed. I'm sure it will help them with the wracking trade."

"I heard the Granger girl's now with them."

"Good, good. She's all they need to get started."

"I'd wager Riddle's right pissed off about that."

"Don't you mean Snape? I don't think Riddle's even aware he's on a boat any more."

"Aye…" Flitwick sighed. "We lost a good 'un there."

"So long as he's still working against Grindelwald I'm happy. He just has a different perspective on how to go about it."

"Which of course clashes with your perspective entirely."

"Well, to be fair, I believe I'm the one doing the clashing. Disseminating exactly what he wants to prevent being disseminated."

"He's just so cocksure about his plan."

"If only he'd tell us what it is, we wouldn't have to go about with our own," said Dumbledore.

"I heard they burned the Granger girl's boat."

"Yes, that was Snape's doing, I'm sure. No better way to keep the Muggles away than to strike fear into their very hearts. He never understood that water puts fire out better than fire—er, to make a pun of it."

"Any news about the man himself?"

Dumbledore's face became grave, as it always did when they spoke of Grindelwald in particular. "None whatsoever. Now it's been a year."


	3. Chapter 3

Just for you, sychofrantic, I have pulled a slash ship out of thin air. You may thank me when I develop it. The lack of female characters in Potterverse may well result in treats for the slashers out there; it certainly helps to account for what little historical accuracy I'm capable of.

Oh, and reviews are nice. I like them. Especially the long, adoring ones.

.((0)).

The thing about Peter and barrels was, he was a bit spooky good at building them. Usually (perhaps inevitably) barrel water acquired algae in it on a long trip; almost all the food stores acquired insects, especially the biscuits, which were famous for having to have the weevils tapped out of them—but with Peter-made barrels, voyages on the _Griffin_ were right as rain. So unusually right as rain, that Sirius Black had made Peter construct a room for their good friend Remus Lupin back in the good old mutineer days, when they had constructed the frigate out of scrap. Of course, that had been when James was with them.

See, the thing about Remus was, there were a lot of strange things in the New World. The New World being anywhere but Europe, and North America in particular. And one of those strange things (a Wendigo, James had said, returning from a long sojourn covered with deerskins) had a sort of… _run-in_, you might say, with Remus, and turned him a bit strange as well. But only on the full moon. And because Peter was just so preternaturally good at making containers, Sirius had asked him to make a container for Remus. And lord, what a good container it was, not only Wendigo-proof, but soundproof as well, so they didn't scare all their new recruits off.

The problem was, Sirius had been too busy doing his captain thing (and James had long since disappeared), and Peter had just had a bit of a lapse in memory, about the full moon thing. And Remus, who became sick and irritable, but very good with swords about three days before and after the full moon, simply couldn't be counted on to lock himself up in Peter's ingenious container. And anyway, he had to be locked from the outside.

So it was that Peter found himself being chased below decks by Remus's Wendigo self. He had never seen it in person, and was positively frightened. He'd gone up the ladder towards the forecastle, because after all Sirius would know what to do, he always did, but in fact he didn't and plunged _right_ off the boat. And then the new girl, the curly-haired one who was almost as scary as the girls on Barbary, had stood her ground, pointed a stick of wood at the Wendigo behind Peter, and said, calmly (and bossily, if she didn't mind him saying): "Petrificus Totalus".

And, strangely enough, that had taken care of it all. There was just the having to explain about North America and Wendigos to the bossy girl and Harry and the ginger-haired newbie and Longbottom.

"So," said Harry, surveying Remus's prone form. "It wasn't wires."

"What wasn't wires?" asked Ron.

"The floating book thing!"

"You thought it was wires?" Hermione asked huffily. Ron laughed at this. Neville Longbottom looked thoroughly confused.

"Hang on," said Harry, and ran aft, returning with a belaying pin. "Give me that book."

Hermione looked at him witheringly. "It can't be just any old piece of wood. Mine's palm with a center of crushed narwhal horn."

Harry impatiently grabbed the book from her horn, opened it to a random page, and cried: "Incendio!" And sure enough, a fire popped up on the deck.

"You idiot!" cried Hermione. "I mean, all right, you cast a spell with a belaying pin, point taken but—aquefa!" A stream of water jetted from her wand and put out the fire.

"Wicked," breathed Harry.

"Wait—why didn't you tell us you could do that one before? We wouldn't have to ration our water," pointed out Ron.

"I- I- It's magic! You can't just prance around like Harry setting any old spell you like. He just nearly set the deck on fire! We have to be careful, and practice, and—Hey!"

Ron grabbed both the book and the belaying pin from Harry.

Before he could do anything stupid, Hermione pointed her stick at him and muttered "Accio."

"I knew it!" said Ron. "You want it all to yourself, don't you, you ruddy bint—"

"Oh, do shut up, Ronald. I'm not about to let you flip through and cast the first word that wins the war against your illiteracy—"

"I am not illiterate!"

Hermione put her hand up. "All I'm saying, is there is a way to begin these things. Repeat after me: Wingardium Leviosa."

Ron looked around for a likely looking object and came across Peter's shoe, which he had lost in his mad pursuit. He pointed the belaying pin at it. "Wingardium Leviosa." Nothing happened.

"It's not Wingardium LEViosa, it's WingARdium LeviOsa."

"Oi, I am not going to like having you as a teacher."

"Try it again." This time she tried on an encouraging smile.

This time Ron intoned the words correctly, and still, nothing happened.

"I expect I was right about the wands."

"But—" started Harry.

"Perhaps a belaying pin suits you," Hermione said before he had time to complete his protest.

"Um," said Neville. "What exactly is going on?"

.((0)).

This was not how things were supposed the go. The way they were supposed to go, Draco and Blaise were supposed to recapture the gingerhead girl and turn her into the _Slytherin_'s servant. After all, Navigator Snape kept going on about how they needed a servant (he also ran off at the mouth about something called house elves, but Draco tended to ignore this), and it would teach her for running away from the likes of dashing pirates like himself and Blaise. She'd had her chance, after all. Instead, she had taken a battered old cutlass off the wall and was laying into them like bloody old Blackbeard himself.

However, Draco and Blaise were no slouches when it came to the old swashing and buckling, and they were able to engage the girl for some time (although it was a bit embarrassing that it took the two of them to engage her). She had a fierce look on her face that snapped her eyes in a pretty way, Draco couldn't help noticing, and perhaps it was that which made him keep feinting when he should be thrusting and parrying when he should be feinting. Instead of getting tired, she seemed to actually be getting angrier and angrier (which made her prettier and prettier, like some kind of flame-haired Valkyrie). Blaise was starting to throw him withering glances on account of having to fight for the both of them. Draco threw him a withering glance right back; they were both fighting a girl and coming nowhere close to overpowering her. They ought to be equally ashamed.

At some point Draco realized that her brutish, loutish, tallish (and, God forbid, _Irish_) brothers had stopped brawling and were watching the proceedings with equal parts shock, reprehension, and amazement. Oh, sod it. "All right! All right! You would make a bloody poor servant girl anyway!" Blaise rolled his eyes. Ginny looked at him appraisingly. Then she looked at her brothers.

"Well? What are you waiting for, you idiots!"

Within minutes the really brutish looking one had disengaged him of his sword and had him round his neck. Blaise combated the tall one and managed to make a getaway. Ginny stood before the three of them, pointing her sword, ostensibly, at Draco, fixing them with that awful (and awfully pretty) stare.

"All right. These are the rules. No more treating me like a baby. No more treating me like a _girl_. And if a man makes a pass at me, it's up to _me_, not you, to defend my honor, as I'm clearly capable of doing." This didn't make sense to Draco at all until he realized she was talking to her brothers. "And _you_," said Ginny, nee Ginevra Weasley, "are going to help me find my brothers, or I will gut you like a pig."

.((0)).

If you had asked Percy Weasley what his personal vision of hell was before the typhoon, he would've replied, pretty much being stuck with the twins. A fool, Percy Weasley was. Hell was being stuck with the twins on a one-deck, fifth-rate frigate, with a cleared out gun room for the entire crew, minus Captain Wood, to sleep in. In the doldrums.

If only the typhoon hadn't struck. If only he'd insisted on giving up his seat to Mum, certainly death was better than this. Or he could have decided to stay on the _Slytherin_ instead of going on with that fool plan to protect Ginevra (on second thought, absolutely not, that boat was _weird_, the captain never showed, Snape was cruel, and Percy was certain it did not move with the wind the way it was supposed to). Or, at least they might be on a galleon, or an oar frigate, or anything that didn't move solely under the power of wind.

Captain Wood licked a finger and put it in the air. Percy harrumphed and wished he'd at least not be so optimistic. Percy was reconciled to his fate. They were going to float about in the doldrums and die of hunger, with the _twins_ pulling pranks on him until he finally, finally died. Captain Wood developed an irritating optimistic look on his face. This usually was the preface to backbreaking labor (which Percy had to admit, Captain Wood never shirked). Once again, Percy's talent for induction did not fail.

"Bout time to take the stu'nsails out, I reckon," he said, First Mate Corner hanging on every word. He gave a brisk salute and Percy's shoulders sagged. Captain Wood, taking notice of this, clapped him hard on the back, nearly sending him sprawling onto the deck. "No worries, Perce, I'll have us back to the islands in no time." Percy was the only member of the crew Wood called by his first name, probably owing to the confusing nature of having to differentiate him from his brothers using only surnames (although he did call the twins Weasleydee and Weasleydum). "Aloft ye go."

Percy knew Wood to be a good and fair captain, an excellent whist play, and also sometimes (it was the hunger-provoked insanity and lack of women, Percy fervently believed) ruggedly handsome, so he tried not to hate him as he clambered up the standing rigging with coxswain Goldstein. This was not the first time they had put the studdingsails (he was not particularly fond of this shortening of words like forward that was common on boats) to catch a wind, and Percy knew things went best starting from the bottom and rigging the largest sails first. Since Percy was clever, a good climber, unfazed by heights, and good at making knots, he was more often assigned to mind the running rigging than to do more brutish labor like carrying up buckets of water to wet the sails, which he knew from the last time was what was coming next.

Fred and George walked below him with buckets of seawater. Good lord, Wood was trusting the wetting of the sails to _them_? They'd all be soaking within the hour, and then Percy's clothes would dry all crusty. "Would you like the upper or the lower spanker, brother mine?" asked Fred.

"I do not care for your insinuations, spank you very much."

.((0)).

NEXT EPISODE

In an expert movement, Hermione unsheathed her longsword and brandished it with relish. "My name is Hermione Anastasia Granger. You killed my father. Now I will kill you. Prepare to die."

The dark-haired man looked up from his paperwork, and Hermione realized that he had been so consumed with reading that he honestly hadn't heard her come through his door. This sent an entirely wrong feeling of camaraderie into her, a feeling which she crushed immediately. Also, he was devastatingly handsome. In an evil way. His dark eyes scrutinised her for a long, penetrating moment, in such an intent way that Hermione felt like a book. "Come again?"


End file.
